


carve me up, leave your mark

by MoMoMomma



Series: Kinktober 2018 [3]
Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, Knifeplay, M/M, Marking, Possessive Behavior, Safe Sane and Consensual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-03
Updated: 2018-10-03
Packaged: 2019-07-24 15:20:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16177787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoMoMomma/pseuds/MoMoMomma
Summary: Broken and shattered things love other broken and shattered things, and Jacob is no different.





	carve me up, leave your mark

The first time Jacob had reached down to his side, drew the too-long, too-sharp knife from its sheath on his leg, Rook’s stomach had dropped out. He distantly remembers scrambling up the bed, against the headboard, hands clasped over his cock and snarls falling from his lips. Questioning why Jacob had brought him there, stripped him down with as much tenderness as he’s certain Jacob is capable of, only to kill him.

Had even threatened to turn the knife on the man he’d just spent what felt like hours kissing. 

He remembers Jacob stopping, freezing, eyes tracking over to the knife like he was shocked to find himself holding it. Remembers words, hushed, quiet, desperation more suiting John than Jacob. 

_”I promise it won’t kill you. Won’t hurt much. I just need to--”_

Rook understands now. Practically has a Pavlovian response to the whoosh of the knife slipping free. Jacob is a broken thing, and he can’t be with someone whole. Broken and shattered things love other broken and shattered things, and Jacob is no different. He never draws enough blood to hurt, never carves anything near as deeply as John once did. And the aftermath is a mix of aftercare and literal medical care. Jacob cleaning and bandaging everything with soft hands, breathing his thanks with every kiss against the white gauze. 

It’s almost as good as the sex. 

Almost.

Rook’s breath catches in his throat and he moans out a “yes” that makes Jacob huff in amusement the second he hears the knife slide free. He stretches obediently, a naked canvas ready for whatever designs Jacob will see fit to put on him. He knew it was going to be one of those days when he came in, snuck in under cover of darkness and some of Jacob’s more trusted soldiers, and saw the bed was down to the bare mattress.

It still has stains on it from Rook’s blood, from the last time, and Rook would be lying if he said the sight didn’t make his cock jerk. 

“You can say no,” Jacob tells him, breathing the words out like the offer is new, like he doesn’t do it every single time. “Just...you can. It won’t piss me off.”

“If I feel like I need to say no, I’ll say Cheeseburger.”

Because as far as safewords go--which had taken a quick google search and a call to Adelaide--it’s a pretty good one. Rook’s fairly certain he’s got no cause to ever have that come up during sex.

Jacob’s mouth ticks up at the corners, something close to a smile but not quite given the tension in the air. He adjusts himself on his knees, spread wide over Rook’s thighs, sitting back just a bit to give him more space to work. He’s a wide expanse of skin above him, and Rook gets so lost in tracing the scars, the burns, the various marks that spell more than a lifetime of pain that he almost misses the knifepoint lowering to skin.

Almost. 

Jacob’s careful, pressure just the right side of deep enough to cut, and Rook lets all the air sink from his lungs in a weak exhale. His cock jerks when Jacob lifts the knife away, the metal shiny with blood already, and there’s a momentary dip of Jacob’s eyes.

Wide. Almost startled. Like after all this time he can’t believe Rook wants this like he does, allows it and _enjoys_ it.

“What are you--” Rook has to stop when the knife lowers again, breathing rhythmic and slow to beat back the instinctual panic. “What are you making?”

“My name.” Jacob admits lowly and Rook can’t say anything at all for a long second, too caught up in the implication there.

Jacob’s put his name on him before. Down the back of one thigh, across the expanse of his lower back. Never...never where it is now. Never a burning pain right below his collarbone, right below John’s marks that won’t fade like Jacob’s probably will.

Marking over the territory. Staking a claim and erasing one that never should have been.

“Fuck, _Jacob_ ,” Rook whines and there’s a pause, knifepoint dug almost too deep before Jacob pulls back and leans in. 

His kiss is just as brutal, messy, as the press of the knife. His fingers catch, swipe over the few letters that are already there, and there’s a distant burning when Jacob presses in. Rook can’t get enough air into his lungs between Jacob’s tongue licking deep and the way he’s still got his palm flexing over the unfinished name. 

“I’m not done.” Jacob pulls back, licks over his lips, eyes hungry when they dip past Rook’s throat. “I need to be done. So you need to be good and be _still_ for me.”

“Yeah, yes, I can--”

“Be good and still and _quiet_.” Jacob murmurs and Rook obediently sinks his teeth into his lower lip, keeping himself contained.

It’s difficult. Very difficult. Especially once Jacob finishes, sets the knife aside for a split second, and leans down to swipe his tongue over the patch of bleeding skin. Rook might make a joke at other times, crack something sarcastic about Jacob’s taste for blood, but he can’t right now.

Because his hips are arching into the bulk of Jacob’s body and he’s scraping nails against Jacob’s sides, and the knife is back in Jacob’s hand.

“It’s not enough,” Jacob says distantly, a disconnect in his eyes that would be terrifying if Rook didn’t trust him so much in moments like this. “I need it to be enough. I need--”

And he gets what he needs. Lines of pain across so much of Rook’s body he almost feels like he’s on fire. Down the front of his thigh, on his bicep, low on his belly with Jacob’s hand around his cock, holding it out of the way. Not always his name, sometimes just the initials or the word strong or something else that Rook can’t quite see.

He feels dizzy by the end of it. Not from blood-loss, though there’s a fair amount across his skin at this point, but with the intimacy of it all. He let a monster hold a weapon to his body, mark him up, and he only feels loved in return. Jacob’s gaze is something close to _worship_ , something he usually only sees in the eyes of dazed Angels or that night so long ago when Joseph was preaching hellfire and damnation to his church. 

“Come here, get up, go--” Jacob’s words are rushed, barely more than growls, and Rook complies best he can.

The best he can, at the moment, is leaning heavily on Jacob’s shoulder as he helps him from the bed. Drags him over to the full-length mirror propped up against one filing cabinet, something Rook’s pretty sure Jacob bought for this purpose. He lets Jacob press his palms to either side of the narrow glass, kicking his feet wide, pushing up in close behind.

Rook looks, mostly because he knows Jacob wants him to and partially because _he_ wants to. The first one is the deepest, still seeping slow lines of blood down his chest, tickling over his belly. Jacob’s name sliced in deep, deeper than the Wrath above it, and it seems so right, seems so fitting.

Jacob tried to make him nothing but Wrath and he failed. Failed in the best sort of way, but still. It fits that he’d put his name deep below that failure, below what he wanted Rook to be. 

“Gonna fuck me now?” Rook murmurs over his shoulder, to where Jacob’s chin is nestled near his throat, looking at him in the mirror as his hands trace Rook’s body. “Want it. Still do, always did. M’okay.”

“I will, I know, I know,” Jacob’s mindless, mostly focused on outlining the marks with his fingers, callouses scraping swollen and irritated skin. “I’ll do you right, sweetheart. I just want to--”

“Yeah,” Rook lets his head hang loose, relaxed, leaning back into Jacob’s bulk. “S’okay. Do whatever you need.”

Jacob will take care of him. He always does, in the end, no matter how long it takes to get to that point. In the meanwhile, Rook is content to let him feel, let him see what he’s done. Jacob gets so little in this world that’s his; Rook thinks it’s fitting he gets the one thing his brothers are chasing after so badly.

Fair’s fair, after all. Jacob might have him, but he’s got Jacob. Got the soldier, the warrior, the only real defense Eden’s Gate ever had. Rook doesn’t need to carve his name into Jacob’s skin to know he’s good and gone on him; can see it in his eyes, in the way his exhales shake when he touches just an inch too close to still bleeding wounds.

That’s good enough for him. For now.

**Author's Note:**

> Wanna see what's coming next? Check out [this post](http://momomomma2.tumblr.com/post/178633371556/happy-kinktober) on my Tumblr!


End file.
